


But If You Try Sometimes, Well, You Might Find ...

by Magnetism_bind



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Arousal, Early Season 3 Fic, Flint does his best to accommodate him, Frottage, Lust, M/M, Mutual Pining, Silver has needs, Spanking, Submission, Tumblr Prompts, post-losing his leg, reassurance, soft moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 07:04:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11709333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: After losing his leg Silver needs to be reminded that he can fulfill his duty as quartermaster; Flint does his best.





	But If You Try Sometimes, Well, You Might Find ...

 

Silver’s been restless for days, distant and holding himself apart from the crew, which isn’t entirely unexpected. He’s only been up on his feet again for a few weeks now. But it’s not that, which has Flint concerned, it’s the way Silver’s keeping his distance from Flint too.

After Silver had been named his quartermaster, Flint had expected...well, something else. And Silver does his duty, but there’s something…lacking in his efforts, as though none of this much matters now that he’s lost his leg.

How can Flint prove him wrong? There has to be a way, but he doesn’t know what Silver needs here.

*  *  *

Silver’s waiting in his cabin early in the afternoon when Flint reaches it.

“Something I can help you with?” Flint inquires, wanting to let Silver know it’s all right, but he doesn’t know how, what are the right words to speak here, to show Silver that he’s willing to listen.

 “I’m trying.” Silver’s voice is soft. “I’ve been trying for quite some time, but it’s absurdly clear to me that you should probably end this farce and select a new quartermaster.”

Flint blinks. “What?”

Silver turns away. “I can’t keep this up…Just look at me.” He gestures to himself with a despising twist to his mouth.

“I am.” Flint says brusquely. “I see my quartermaster who’s wasting my time, thinking he can get out of his duties.”

Silver jerks his head up, glaring at him with hot eyes. “You don’t understand.”

“Then tell me.” Flint leans on his desk. “Tell me what you need here? What do you need to move past this moment? To wake up tomorrow and know that you  _can_  do this?” All Silver has to do is know he can do this, and he will. Flint knows this. 

“I want…” Silver licks his lips, hesitating as though he thinks Flint won’t understand. “I want you to…”

“Just spit it out.” Flint presses on with the brusqueness, sensing Silver respond to it. “Tell me.”

“I want you to lay your hands on me.” Silver’s voice is soft, barely above a whisper.

"What?” Flint thinks he must have misheard him.

“I want you to strike me.” Silver says. When Flint remains silent, he forces the rest of the words out, “The rest of the crew keeps tiptoeing around me and…I keep thinking I can focus, but I’ll catch one of them looking at me like I’m something to be pitied and… I  _need_.” His knuckles dig hard into the flesh of his thigh above his stump. “I just need… _something_  to remind me that not everything has changed. That I haven’t changed.”

 _But you have changed_ , Flint thinks, but somehow holds back from saying the words aloud. Silver has and he hasn’t, that’s what he needs to understand and accept, and it takes time for him to do that. Time Flint doesn’t have to give him.

“I never struck you.” He feels compelled to point out.

“You’ve wanted to.” Silver dares him to challenge it. “Admit it.”

“How will this help?” Flint counters.

“It’ll take me outside of my head for once, stilling the thoughts that won’t let me rest.” Silver’s face is so uncomfortable at admitting this need.

Flint wants to refuse, to say he can’t do this but he understands this desire all too well. And if he can offer Silver some relief, he will. He needs Silver to pull himself together and take his proper place. Silver can do this, once he’s regained his focus, Flint knows this.

And Silver’s right, his hands long to touch him.

 *  *  *

“Are you sure this is what you need?” Flint asks again. He has to make sure, but he knows Silver is sure and he’s already two steps ahead, thinking where’s the best place in the cabin to do this.

“You  _heard_ me.” Silver forces the words past his gritted teeth. “Don’t make me say it again.”

“Very well.” Flint says. He looks around the cabin, mind working rapidly. The desk probably makes the most sense, but he’ll need something to ease some of the weight off Silver’s good leg, and then he has an idea.

“Come here.” He directs Silver over to the desk and Silver moves closer to the desk, waiting.

“Take down your breeches and lay yourself flat over it, holding on to the other end.”

Silver exhales softly and then astonishingly, he does as Flint commands, even if this was what he himself had asked for, Flint is still astounded by Silver carrying it out. He watches in amazed silence as Silver drop his breeches and bends over.

Flint slides his gaze over Silver’s exposed flesh just for a moment.  _That_  isn’t why Silver is doing this. If it was, he would have asked for something else, surely. The trouble is, Flint’s not sure if Silver knows that, if he realizes that he can ask for that, for, well, anything, from Flint.

He takes off his own belt and walks around the desk to face Silver.

“What are you going to do with that?” Silver’s voice hitches slightly.

“I’m going to tie your hands so you don’t struggle.” Flint says calmly.

He waits for Silver to refuse, or tell him no. Instead Silver just nods and holds out his wrists.

Flint’s fingers touch his warm skin lightly, wrapping the worn leather around Silver’s thin wrists and loops them tight. He hooks the belt over the edge of the desk, effectively holding Silver in place.

Then he steps back, knowing Silver can now rest his solid leg on the ground, without bearing too much weight on his metal one.

“How do you want me to touch you?” Flint asks and his voice has lowered to a soft rasp of a thing. He walks back around the desk because if he stays standing where he was, Silver might guess just how much he’s willing to offer him.

“With…with your hand.” Silver murmurs, keeping his gaze fixed firmly straight ahead on the windows.

And now Flint can’t help looking at him, can’t help admiring the beauty of Silver’s slender body, the mere loveliness of him spread out upon Flint’s desk, asking for this, needing Flint to be the one to give it to him. Silver can’t see Flint admire him, and perhaps it’s all right to allow himself this small thing, if he gives Silver what he needs in return.

“Do you trust me?” Flint asks and it’s a curious thing. He knows the answer already, but he wants to hear Silver say it with his hands bound, waiting for Flint’s hands on him.

Silver offers a small half gasp of a laugh. “I wouldn’t be doing this,” he squirms faintly against the desk, Flint’s desk, “if I didn’t.”

It’s the answer Flint expected. What he didn’t expect was the jolt of pure satisfaction Silver’s words give him, settling low and heated in his groin, the way he straightens up and feels the ghost of his naval training in the smooth lines of his shoulders, the stance of his hips as he positions himself behind Silver.

“Good.” Flint says, examining Silver with a critical eye. And he then gives Silver a firm slap right across the buttocks, quick and sharp before Silver can prepare himself for it. Silver’s body jerks forward in shock; Flint repeats it before Silver has time to adjust and only then does he wait as Silver catches his breath.

Silver’s body trembles faintly against the desk, and then he braces himself, twisting his wrists in the bonds of Flint’s belt as he gathers his defenses, raises them and then surrenders himself to Flint’s control.

“Well.” Silver grunts when he can speak again. “Get on with it.”

Flint finds a grin springing to his lips at the spark in Silver’s tone even now, but it’s lost on Silver who doesn’t see it and then he brings his hand down again.

Flint times his blows, making the most of this rare and unexpected opportunity to touch Silver. He watches Silver’s skin turn a faint pink and then slowly fade into a deeper crimson that makes Flint’s gut tighten with satisfaction. With every blow from his hand, the tension eases smoothly from Silver’s body, until he’s lying lax across the desk. Flint’s lost track of how many times he has laid his hand upon Silver’s body. His hand aches, but he’s lost in giving Silver whatever he needs.

He watches his imprint flare and fade across Silver’s buttocks, and then just as he raises his hand yet again, he hears Silver say. “Enough.”

There’s a silky lassitude to his voice that curls around Flint’s cock, surrounding him with its heat. He shakes it off, trying to remain in control.

He takes one last look at Silver’s reddened cheeks, wishing he could simply touch there, just for the sake of touching Silver, and he can’t, so instead he walks around the desk to untie his belt, releasing Silver’s wrists.

Silver gazes up at him with eyes as soft and calm as a morning sea. “Somehow, I knew you’d be good at that.”

Flint swallows, watching him rub his wrists slightly as he straightens up. “Too tight?”

“No.” Silver assures him. “Just right.”

He reaches for his breeches, drawing them back up his hips, and now that this shared moment is done, Flint’s not sure of his place in the room, even it is his cabin.

Silver looks at him, resting a hesitant hand on the desk. “If it doesn’t bother you, I would like to say thank you for that.”

“Why would it bother me?”

Silver shrugs. “It’s not the usual sort of request a quartermaster makes of their captain.” He points out.

“True,” Flint acknowledges. “Thought, it hardly matters what is usual between other captains and quartermasters, since we have never been the usual pairing, now have we?" It shouldn’t matter, is what he means. He just wants this to work between him. It could work so well, if Silver just understands that the loss of his leg doesn’t matter in the manner he thinks it does.

Flint pauses there, hoping that surely, whatever he had meant to say, Silver would understand. Where did this doubt come from? He didn’t always possess it when talking to Silver. 

“No, we have not.” Silver says with a funny look on his face. He hesitates and then, “I suppose, I should be getting back to my duties.”

Flint wants to hold him here in this moment, in the stillness of this room until he says whatever he was thinking right there. Instead he gives Silver a dismissive nod and turns his back until Silver’s gone from his cabin, and only then does he  sink into his chair and hold his head in his hands.

 *  *  *

It’s not till much later that night that Flint returns to the cabin and finds Silver there ahead of him, half bare against the desk, dabbing at his skin with a cloth.

Flint halts dead in the doorway at the sight. 

Silver looks up and catches sight of him. “Ah, apologies. I hoped to be done with this before you came back.”

Flint closes the door abruptly, aware that he’s just standing there staring at Silver. Once it’s closed he turns back to Silver.

“What’s wrong?” He hears the concern in his voice, wincing at it. Now is not the time, not when Silver wanted less care shown about his leg, not more.

“Nothing’s wrong, except that my backside is sore, which is expected after a well-placed and thoroughly satisfying beating.”

There’s a slightly smug look lurking around the corners of Silver’s mouth and Flint doesn’t know what to make of any of this. Except that Silver looks more like himself than he has in weeks.

“So it’s all right.”

“I’m  _sore_.” Silver says in faint indignation. “”As I expected to be, as I wanted to be, as this pain directs away from my leg. That was the whole point. But I’m still sore nonetheless.”

“Oh.” Flint says, a little helpless in the face of Silver’s words and his exposed skin that lures Flint closer though he knows he should keep his distance.

Silver’s hand hesitates. “I can do this later if you don’t care to…” He trails off, like he doesn’t know how to end this sentence, not with Flint standing there looking at him.

It occurs to Flint then, slowly like the dawn creeping over the horizon, slowly bringing light to the dark, that just this once, Silver doesn’t know what to do first here, that he’s the one who might have to lead, if he wants matters to progress in the way he had imagined ever since…well, ever since Silver first looked at him and smiled. It has taken Flint a good long while to admit it, of course, even just to himself, but here he is.

And here Silver is, waiting in the dark, on the verge of enlightenment. All Flint has to do is take his hand and lead him forward into the daylight.

The real question is, does Silver want that?

“What?” Silver asks when Flint still hasn’t said anything more. He’s still just standing there.

Flint clears his throat. “No, I don’t mind. Continue.”

Silver looks surprised, but does. He dips the cloth in the water again and dabs at his flushed skin, wincing at the brush of the cloth upon his aching skin.

Flint goes over to his desk, watching him out of the corner of his eyes. Silver hisses slightly, but his focus is renewed as he wanted it to be, and he’s standing straighter than he has in days. Flint takes comfort in these things.

“There’s salve.” Flint says into the silence. “It would probably help.”

Silver glances over his shoulder at him and then slowly asks, “Would you do it?”

There’s a beat of a moment and then Flint nods.

Flint opens a drawer of his desk and takes out the small bottle Howell had given him after an injury some time ago. He makes his way over to the bed and nods at it.

“You should lie down.” He says. “On your stomach.”

Silver considers this for a moment and then nods. He pulls himself up and starts to lie down before pausing. “I should…” His hands hesitate and then he reaches for the straps around his leg. “I’ll take it off.” The words come out a little firmer now and Flint can’t help nodding in approval.

He busies himself open with opening the salve while Silver removes the leg and sets it aside. Next Silver pushes his breeches all the way down his thighs and lies back down on his stomach, folding his arms above his head. His ass is a beautifully flushed hue and the sight of it steals Flint’s breath away.  _He_  did that.  _His_  hand on Silver’s flesh.

He scoops a bit of the salve onto his fingertips and smooths it into the crease of Silver’s ass.

The groan that escapes Silver’s mouth nearly undoes Flint. He can’t respond as he’d like; instead he simply keeps moving his fingers down along the swell, and then further, just a gentle sweep of his fingertips along the sensitive cleft.

Silver sighs into his folded arms. “Your hands feel amazing.”

Flint adds more salve, spreading it over every inch of skin that he touched earlier, leaving his mark. With every press of his fingers, Silver utters some soft noise that makes blood rush to Flint’s cock.

He still can’t speak in response to those noises. His fingers continue kneading into the swell of Silver’s ass, caressing him, rubbing the salve into Silver’s flesh until Silver finally grips the edge of the bed with one hand, and the other reaches out to grasp Flint’s wrist.

“Enough.” His voice sounds slightly strained.

Flint looks down at where Silver’s fingers encircle his wrist. And then Silver half turns to look up at him, and beyond his eyes bright with desire, Flint sees the taut line of his stomach, leading down to the flushed and leaking curve of his cock.

“Please.” Silver whispers. “Please, James.”

Flint moves as though he’s sinking into the ocean, pulled down by the eternal swell of the sea, down down down into the depths until his mouth hovers mere inches over Silver’s.

If he moves further, what will happen? If he surrenders into these depths, where will it lead?

"James.” Silver moans again and then he leans up, reaching for Flint, drawing his mouth down and closing the distance between them. Flint closes his eyes, letting himself drown in the heat of Silver’s mouth, the brush and swell of his tongue against Flint’s and the sweet, intoxicating taste of him. The allure of the ocean has nothing on John Silver.

His tongue curls around Silver’s and drags them together, making Silver moan into his mouth.

Flint doesn't waste any time removing his clothes. He simply climbs onto the bed beside Silver, pressing against him as they lay together. He can feel Silver’s bare cock against his groin, Silver's mouth on his, Silver’s hands fumbling at Flint's breeches with desperation.

"I want." Silver breathes. “God, I want you.”

Flint hooks a leg over his as Silver slides his hand inside, drawing him out. He nearly chokes at the touch of Silver's hand. The heat of Silver’s palm on him, his hips buck forward, thrusting roughly into the heaven offered by Silver’s hand.

And then Silver joins them, pressing their cocks hotly together and Flint buries his noise in the curve of Silver’s shoulder as they move, sliding clumsily together at first until they gain a semblance of rhythm, with the heat of Silver's cock rubbing against his own and Silver reaching for his mouth to kiss desperately, with half giddy satisfaction, all tongue and lips and breath.There's the roar of the ocean in Flint's and a restless drumming in his chest that don't cease. He’s lost to the depths; he’s risen again. There is only the heat and the swell and the salt, and he’s somewhere in the midst of it all.

And then Silver sighs into his mouth and their cocks grind together, spilling in one glorious mess.

Silver lets his head fall back upon the pillow. There’s silence for a brief bit and then he takes a long breath. "Okay...that was new."

Flint huffs a chuckle and presses his thumb to the corner of Silver's mouth. "A good newness, I hope."

“Yes.” Silver says after a moment. “Though again, I must say, probably not the usual arrangement between a quartermaster and their captain.”

Flint cups his cheek. “And like I said. What we have is not usual to others.” He wants Silver beside him, wants Silver to understand that he wants  _him_ , not what Silver imagines himself to be. One leg or no, Flint doesn’t want anyone else as his quartermaster, and he hopes he just showed that to Silver.

“I know.” Silver whispers. He leans into Flint’s embrace. “I’ll try to remember it.”

“Well,” Flint murmurs, stroking his thumb over his jaw and down to his lips. “Any time you want a reminder, I’m happy to oblige.”

Silver grins and simply sucks his thumb into his mouth.

One leg or no, Flint makes a note, Silver will never be kept down for long.


End file.
